DAUGHTER.
Do, very rarely, I must be abroad else
To call the maids and pay the minstrels,
For I must lose my maidenhead by cocklight.
’Twill never thrive else.
[Sings.] O fair, O sweet, &c.
BROTHER.
[To Jailer.] You must e’en take it patiently.
JAILER.
’Tis true.
DAUGHTER.
Good ev’n, good men; pray, did you ever hear
Of one young Palamon?
JAILER.
Yes, wench, we know him.
DAUGHTER.
Is’t not a fine young gentleman?
JAILER.
’Tis, love.
BROTHER.
By no means cross her; she is then distempered
Far worse than now she shows.
FIRST FRIEND.
Yes, he’s a fine man.
DAUGHTER.
O, is he so? You have a sister?